


never will they mourn

by thefaceofno



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Pining, aroace character, most your faves are nonbinary, not all les amis are detectives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefaceofno/pseuds/thefaceofno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the prompt was "Buddy cop/detective partners scenario." so I gave you homicide detectives with a murder case. Also Les Amis are there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never will they mourn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skeletonsmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonsmama/gifts).



> also obviously courferre have a p big part in this bc i am shameless  
> and it's probably obvs how much i love enjolras 
> 
> title from paris - caro emerald

Bossuet has _no freaking clue_ why he decided to become a cop, let alone why someone decided to promote him to detective. To be perfectly honest, when he was told to pack up his desk, he thought they had found out he’d been filing his K73-21 forms wrong from the very beginning. The very last thing he’d expected was to be directed into the office of the infamous Detective Joly and told he’d be working alongside him from now on, and good work on the Sanburg case _Detective_ Bossuet. Of course Bossuet had heard of Joly, and seen him around the building (however hard he was to spot, at 5”2), and done a healthy amount of admiring of his general physique and persona whenever he had the chance, but he’d never considered he’d have the chance to _work_ with Detective ‘please just call me Joly, you don’t want to know my first name’ Joly. Of course, in line with Bossuet’s usual luck, he’d got up 30 minutes early to go and get him and Joly coffee, and was now being blocked from leaving by a group of protesters, the leader of whom was yelling at the manager of the shop, their sculpted face set in an expression of terrifying determination.

“...Not only has your disregard for your workers’ health, safety, rights and general wellbeing gained you a reputation worse than _Starbucks_ , with lawsuits piled up where you won’t have to deal with them, but you’ve also been accused of possession with intent to sell in order to pay your rent-“

At this, Bossuet’s interest piqued. He wasn’t equipped to deal with unaddressed lawsuits, but he’d worked under a narcotics detective for a year, although he was promoted as a homicide detective. As Terrifying Blonde Person publicly gave the manager a rundown of why he needs to address the lawsuits, including some apparently given by the current barista, Bossuet called Joly and asked him to bring the appropriate people to deal with gross misuse of power over employees. One of the other protesters, a tall Indian with the sides of his head shaved and a beard coming through noticed him making a phone call, and their eyes never left Bossuet from then on, even as they leaned to whisper something to their small tan companion, of which Bossuet caught the words ‘calling’ and ‘police on us’. Terrifying Blonde Person stepped down with a warning backed with legal and police action at the shop owner, and Bossuet stepped forwards, still on the phone with Joly and addressed Terrifying Blonde Person, flashing his badge and watching the wary mistrust seep into Terrifying Blonde’s eyes as he did.

“Hi. You said ‘possession with intent to sell’? Could you tell me where you got the accusation?” Bossuet pressed the phone to his chest, hoping Joly could hear and had started recording. Terrifying Blonde eyed Bossuet carefully.

“The Barista, Grantaire. He’s filed two lawsuits against this creep, and his friend Eponine has filed one.”

“One for possession with intent to sell...”

“That was towards Grantaire. He also failed to pay at regular intervals, refused to pay sick leave, and sexually harassed Eponine.”

“How long has he been ignoring these outside of lawful behaviour?”

“Long enough for us to intervene on behalf of the workers.”

Bossuet nodded, pulling the phone back up to his ear, relaying the information to Joly, who confirmed he’d be taken into custody to have the claims assessed, and that he’d send a car and be there himself in a few minutes. Bossuet hung up and smiled at the manager.

“I trust you heard that?”

The manager’s pasty face went even paler. His tiny eyes darted to the exit, conveniently blocked by the extra protesters, and towards the back entrance, which the barista Grantaire was standing beside.

“You can make a break for it, and I can detain you, or you can wait quietly here until your car comes, and your Miranda Rights are read to you.” Bossuet said in his most charming voice.

“I think... I’ll wait quietly.”

“Good choice!” Bossuet said, and turned to talk to Terrifying Blonde, effectively cutting the manager out of their conversation.

“I’m Bossuet, and a detective at Scotland Yard. My partner Joly should be here soon; we both use he/his pronouns, what’re your name and pronouns?”

Terrifying Blonde grinned, which was one of the most terrifying and exhilarating things Bossuet had ever seen. “I’m Enjolras, I use he/his pronouns.” He turned to point at the people in the room. “That’s Combeferre,” at the tall Indian who had noticed Bossuet using his phone, and had focused on him in a slightly less obvious, if no less terrifying way than Enjolras, “he uses he/his pronouns as well. That’s Courfeyrac,” the one next to Combeferre, who stood about a head and a half shorter than Combeferre, “he uses he/his, too. That’s Bahorel,” at the muscular, tattooed person standing next to the entrance and wearing a sleeveless top in 5°C heat _what the f-_ “ce/cir/cem pronouns. The one in front of cem is Jehan,” just as tall, slightly less muscular, twice as pale but with waist length hair and... a flower crown? “They/them pronouns. There are more of us that regularly attend meetings, but this is a personal matter, of Grantaire,” he gestured towards the barista, “who uses he/him pronouns, as I have already said.”

Bossuet nodded, trying to take in all the names at once. He looked curiously at Enjolras.

“Meetings?” He asked. Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing social justice type gatherings?” Enjolras nodded, a smile taking over his face.

“We meet regularly once a week, ask Combeferre for a card, I’d like to see you there. You’re better than all police employees I’ve ever met.”

“Really?”

“I’ve never met a single other police employee who has asked for name _and_ pronouns.”

“Mm, it’s just common decency, even if most people I ask have never even considered genders other than the binary. One of my closest friends, Feuilly, identifies as a demimale but uses he/his pronouns. He’s the one who opened my eyes and made me change my speech patterns.”

“He’s on the police force, too?”

“Yeah, he deals with cybercrime, mostly.”

Enjolras’ grinned. “Invite him to a meeting with you. It sounds like we’d get on; I identify as agender but use he/his pronouns, but maybe for different reasons.”

“What are your reasons?” Bossuet leaned against a table, ready to settle in for a long discussion, but just as he nearly toppled the table over, but stood up and caught it just in time, the door opened and Joly strode in. He spotted Bossuet and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re late.”

“I apprehended a suspect!”

Bahorel snorted from behind Joly.

“Enjolras did more apprehending than you did.”

“Thanks Bahorel.” Bossuet grinned ruefully at him, and offered a coffee to Joly. “Peace offering?”

Joly took the coffee, and the door opened again, letting in the two guys tasked with taking the manager away. As he was cuffed and read his Miranda Rights in the background, Bossuet and Joly confirmed the necessity of a search, and due to the lawful nature of the manager’s arrest Joly made a note to ask for a pre-trial warrant. Combeferre approached the pair, offering two business cards emblazoned with ‘Les Amis de l’ABC’ and coughing slightly, smiling apologetically.

“De l’abaisse? Hil-ar-i-ous.” Joly grinned up at Combeferre, “who thought of it?”

“Enjolras did, but we never really expected anyone to get it. He’ll be pleased.” Combeferre’s mouth turned up at the edges in understated amusement as he spoke.

“My name’s François Joly, with a bunch of patronymics shoved somewhere in there. I’ll be sure to go to your meetings; I’ve been trying for years to get police brutality convictions to hold more weight.” Joly held his hand out to shake Combeferre’s, and Bossuet had to hold in laughter at the sight of tiny, Korean Joly holding his hand up for the 6 foot plus Indian Combeferre to shake.

“I’m Combeferre. We’ll do the names and pronouns at the meeting; for now I have to get to work.” He shook Joly’s hand and nodded at Bossuet, heading back over to where Courfeyrac was standing, and pulling him into a hug before leaving. Courfeyrac stared after him with a vacant smile on his face for a few seconds after he left. Bossuet nudged Joly.

“We should bring Feuilly.”

“You know Feuilly?”

“Of course I know Feuilly, that’s how I get most of the gossip about you.”

“There’s gossip about me?” Joly’s gaze turned accusatory.

“Nothing bad!”

Joly raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing _really_ bad.”

Joly raised both eyebrows.

“Nothing that reflects badly on you.”

Joly turned his head slightly and pushed his eyebrows together, forming a crease between them.

“...The last time I asked him something was to find out your coffee order.”

Joly laughed, his sceptical expression dissolving into his natural smiling face, and Bossuet blushed, his heart beating double speed.

“Well I’m glad; I didn’t have time to get coffee this morning. But we need to get back to the office, now we’re both late.” He turned and walked over to where Grantaire was on his phone, and told him “we’ll be back with an investigation into the allegations against this guy. Here’s my work extension and mobile numbers,” he handed over a scrap of paper, “we’ll have a warrant to search the building soon, and if you don’t have a lawyer we can provide one for you.”

Grantaire laughed, pointing to the group of protesters where Jehan was listening in, Combeferre and Bahorel had left, and Enjolras and Courfeyrac were talking. “Most of them are lawyers, and if they won’t represent me, they have more friends. I’m basically swimming in lawyers. Bahorel hates it.”

Bossuet glanced over to Bahorel who was leaving, high fiving Courfeyrac on cir way out... Looking pretty pumped to be there, in all honesty. Bossuet made a mental note to ask about that.

“Well could I take down your number in case I want to contact you about the events again?”

“A pen and paper?” Grantaire asked, taking them and writing his number down, “How old fashioned.”

Joly grinned. “I’m a traditionalist, but only in the ways that matter.”

“Pens and paper?” Grantaire laughed.

“Well what else about our culture would I want to preserve?”

“Endless cynicism?”

“Ah. British values at their best.” Joly grinned at Grantaire, took the pen and paper back and bade farewell to him, Bossuet trailing behind and smiling like a lost puppy.

“Bye Enjolras, we’ll see you at the next meeting!” Bossuet called as he followed Joly’s lead out the door. Enjolras tore himself away from his conversation with Courfeyrac to wave at them, and Jehan immediately went to talk with Grantaire. Moments later, a text from Grantaire arrived; “ _Is it unprofessional for me to invite you for a drink? You can bring your ‘partner’”_ Joly read aloud, sliding into the passenger seat as Bossuet took the wheel.

“Why is ‘partner’ in quotes?” Joly asked.

Bossuet blushed, but noticed Joly didn’t immediately reject Grantaire’s invite as a date invitation, and made a mental note to ask Feuilly about that later. Joly scratched his face, and took a deep breath.

“That reminds me, Bossuet do you want to maybe grab a drink after work? ...Make our working relationship better?” He said something else, but trailed off into mumbles before Bossuet could make sense of it. Bossuet started to take a breath to reply, but Joly cut him off. “We can invite Grantaire along if you’d prefer?”

“That’d be great! We can go tomorrow; it’s Friday and I’m free for the weekend. If you want Grantaire to come too, invite him.” Nerves clogged Bossuet’s throat, hoping he didn’t sound too eager to turn it into a date. Feuilly had told him Joly had dated men and women – and that Joly had asked him out when they first met, then they’d had a truly embarrassing conversation about grey-sexuality and grey-romanticism and lack of gender identity. They’d apparently parted good friends, but Bossuet still blushes just thinking about it. He still also didn’t know whether Joly would be attracted to him at all, or willing to put their professional relationship to the test by trying anything with him. From beside him, Joly sniffed.

“I’ll invite Grantaire.”

Bossuet tried not to be too disappointed.

 

-/-

 

 

A week into working with Joly, he slammed a portfolio spilling with documents in front of Bossuet, who jumped and knocked his coffee over. Luckily, it was in a takeout cup with just a drop inside. Bossuet stared at it, wondering when the heck he got lucky enough to turn all his bad luck scenarios into good ones, with obviously the biggest being the coffee shop management issue, but he’d also managed to; fix his phone’s ill fitting hardware issue by dropping it; trip over and land on Joly (that had resulted in a lot of blushing, but his hands had accidentally fitted themselves to Joly’s torso, and he had helped Joly up and Joly had _smiled_ at him); compliment Joly’s new sweater vest just a _little_ too loudly, and had Joly smug and smiling for the rest of the day; vaguely insinuate Feuilly didn’t have much of a social circle, and accidentally get him to agree to join the next Amis meeting. This time the bad luck didn’t have too much of a negative impact, but the freezing flash of panic that went through him at seeing potentially staining coffee aimed at his newly (correctly) completed L7-06 form left nervous energy running through his veins. They watched the cup roll off the desk and land on the floor. Joly shot Bossuet a sceptical look, his face obviously trying to suppress a smile.

“This is... Well we don’t have a name for it. Everyone mostly calls it the ‘0579 case’.” Joly opened the file and pushed it towards Bossuet. “So far all we have is: same MO. That’s pretty much it.”

“Really?”

Joly shrugged. “It’s quite a distinctive MO?”

Bossuet turned the page and shuddered. The cause of death was a single bullet wound to the forehead from an unidentified gun, different every time, and on every belly there was a number, counting down from 20.

“The numbers were carved after death.” Joly was watching Bossuet closely, looking for any signs of faint-heartedness.

“Okay,” Bossuet said, taking a deep breath, “why are you showing me this now? The first date on this is from five years ago, and the last date is from ten months ago.” That one was number 4.

“We have to treat it as an open case.” Joly sighed, “because the numbers haven’t reached zero, it’s obviously still open, even if it’s mostly gone cold by now. We don’t know whether they changed their MO and just took out the last three, or whether they’re waiting for the right chance. After number five we jailed a guy called Francis Leving, and after that the kills stopped for five months, until number 4. We think the numbers on the people were to inform someone of interest how many are left.”

“Do you know who the person of interest is?”

“No clue. All we know is that the evidence is available to them, so that’s... anyone in this police station, any lawyer working on the case, any law student, any clever intern or coffee guy, anyone reading the papers who knows the code. We interviewed a lot of people before the judge ruled the process a waste of the police’s time. The victims have nothing in common other than they all lived in Manchester in July 2007, but even within that there’s not even a place of work or habit that might introduce a new suspect. We don’t expect to find anything, but you have to be made known, just in case you find another victim who might fall into the pattern. Fresh eyes are always good.”

Bossuet nodded, and began reading.

Three hours later he stretched and spoke, his voice scratchy with lack of use.

“I find a lot of these faces familiar.”

Joly looked up. “What?”

“Yeah, I lived in Manchester in July 2007, too. I left in August, and joined Scotland Yard. But this guy,” he pointed to number 17, “I’m pretty sure he was a barista at my favourite coffee shop. The rest I can’t place, but I feel like they’re familiar.”

Joly’s eyes were wide. “You think they knew each other?”

“Nah, there’s nothing in here about them interacting with each other. You really have no idea why this set of people were killed?”

“None. 17 people died over four years and we’re still clueless. Four of them were abroad, so we know these people were specifically picked out. Francis confessed to the murders within Britain, but he didn’t know much of the reasons past being sent to kill people. Apparently there’s a group of 6 but he doesn’t know names, occupations or appearances.”

Bossuet hummed. “Those six people are still out there, and you have no idea why they’re killing- or, killed- these people.”

Joly sighed. “You make me sound like I’m incompetent at this job.”

 “You wouldn’t have this position if you were.” Bossuet’s eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly at Joly, who smiled softly back.

“Thanks.”

Bossuet huffed a laugh through his nose, then froze and leaned forwards.

“I know this guy.”

“You’ve said.”

“No, different guy; Francis Leving.”

Joly stood up and joined Bossuet at his desk.

“From where?”

“I don’t know, all I remember is I was accidentally folded into a gathering of a group of people who were mostly joking, well I think they were joking, about organised crime rings- in Manchester. I was about to leave the city, and I was freaking out about housing problems in London, but there were 25- maybe 30 people there? Francis guffawed at something and this one guy who introduced himself as The- Thena-something shot him down. I left then, because I’d actually left the oven on, but my old neighbour left with me. She’s not in the victims though, so I don’t know whether it matters.”

Joly nodded, his eyes narrowing.

“I’ll try to set up an interview with Francis? See if it’s relevant.” Joly said, and nearly tripped over a bin in his haste to get to the phone on his desk. Bossuet nodded, and settled in to re-read the case file.

 

-/-

 

 

Two days later, they drag a grumpy Feuilly to their first Amis meeting. It’s a pub; ‘Le Musain’ (“What is it with these people and their ability to find the _only_ French things in Britain?”) full with people, all obviously waiting for something. As they entered, and Joly took off his scarf, beanie, coat but left his hoodie on, commenting to Feuilly: ‘I’m gonna catch your bloody cold from the other week,’ Bahorel’s voice rang out above the background noise.

“They’re here! Let’s get this party started!” A cheer arose from the group of people ce was with, which upon closer inspection was the closer band of Les Amis, all sitting close together with Jehan basically on Bahorel’s lap, pressing a kiss to cir lips as Enjolras stood up. Courfeyrac was basically on Combeferre’s lap, too, but neither showed any romantic affection past the longing gazes and them being pressed up against each other all down their sides, with Combeferre’s arm on the back of the seat behind Courfeyrac. Enjolras, now on a table, cleared his throat relatively quietly, but he still drew the attention of pretty much everyone in the pub. Bossuet could practically see Feuilly swooning.

“So... We’re all here for an update on our goings on this week. I hate to inform you, this will be a _very_ short meeting, but I’ll elaborate on the 2 nd of the Month as per usual.” Here he paused, before gesturing to Grantaire, sandwiched in between Bahorel and Combeferre, “The ‘boss’ issue has been mostly resolved, thanks to our newcomers,” here he pointed to where Joly, Bossuet and Feuilly were standing frozen in the entryway. The entire focus of the room pinned on them. Joly waved. “And it will be wrapped up as soon as possible. The busses are running as _usual_ , Timothy, _you’re welcome_.” The room tittered, and Enjolras’ steely face flickered with a smile. Bossuet noticed one elderly man with his wife –matching rings- by his side, bright red and grinning. “We’ll discuss the picketing campaign when we’re not...” he gestured vaguely at the surroundings. A lady behind the pub counter called “Careful!” at him, a playful glint in her eye. There were some laughs, some ‘oohs’, and Enjolras grinned. “In _civilised_ company.” She barked a laugh, which others joined in with, until the room was humming with good nature. “And that’s all for today! Thanks for coming; although I know the quarter-off beer is what brought you.” The room laughed again, and Les Amis were watching Enjolras fondly, “Go nuts!” Enjolras yelled, and the room dissolved into conversation and laughter. He climbed off the table and still stood a head taller than most the crowd. Bossuet grabbed one of Feuilly’s hands and one of Joly’s hands, and dragged them across to Les Amis.

“You’re so charismatic, I’m swooning- oh _Enjolras_!” Bahorel pretended to swoon right into Jehan’s arms, and Enjolras, blushing furiously, reached across the table to swat at cem.

“I’m really quite intimidated by you.” Bossuet cringed at himself as soon as he said it, standing hand in hand with Feuilly and Joly. Enjolras looked up at him and blushed even more.

“Why? You shouldn’t be; I’m not so impressive!”

“The first time I saw you, you were all righteous fury, completely tearing down that guy’s argument and standing point, and the second time I’ve seen you, you commanded the attention of a room with a cough, and you’re also laughing with your close friends.”

Enjolras grinned and relaxed back into the sofa seat next to Combeferre.

“It took practise. And a _lot_ of juggling of personal social political professional lives.”

Bossuet shook his head in wonder at him.

“Well you’re impressive, I hope you know.”

Combeferre nudged Enjolras’ arm, smiling at him and giving him an expression that would probably make a lot of sense to someone whose known him for years. Enjolras rolled his eyes at Combeferre, and turned back to Bossuet.

“Bring up a few chairs, pretty much everyone stands to talk at these things.”

When they had chairs and had seated themselves around the outside of the curved sofa seat, they went round and did name/pronoun introductions. At the introduction of Bahorel and Jehan, both nonbinary and dating, Feuilly’s eyes lit up and he delved into a conversation with them. Bossuet and Joly smiled at Grantaire, who they’d met up to drink with twice. (Joly had drunk them both under the table, with Grantaire a close second, yet Joly had shown no signs of a hangover come Moday morning. Insulting, considering Bossuet’s headache lasted well into Tuesday.)

“So you’re on the police force.” The small one draped himself over Combeferre’s lap to better talk to them (Courfeyrac, Bossuet remembered. “Totally not dating Combeferre. At all. Nope.” Grantaire had said, “They’re the biggest idiots I’ve ever met.”) “What department?”

“We’re mainly homicide detectives, but we deal in the cases that are nearly closed. There’s a lot of paperwork.” Joly rolled his eyes, “It takes a long time to explain exactly what we do; official title is ‘Homicide Detectives’, and Feuilly’s in cybercrime.”

“Nice; I’m a criminal justice lawyer, and so is Enjolras. Combeferre is a doctor or something-“

“-I’m a ER surgeon-“

“-so he never has any spare time. Jehan’s a lawyer, but their poetry is where they really shine.” At this, Jehan smiled indulgently at Courfeyrac across the table.

“And Grantaire’s an artist?” Bossuet asked, looking at where Grantaire was slumped in the corner. Grantaire grinned.

“Freelance. Mostly I’m a barista.”

“You do make good coffee.”

“Thanks Courfeyrac.”

“No problem,” Courfeyrac winked, and Grantaire twitched his eyebrow at him, a smile spreading on his face regardless. “Eponine’s is better though.”

Grantaire laughed, “well of course!”

From the corner, Feuilly asked Jehan about their poetry. Courfeyrac laughed, his body tipping over onto Combeferre’s, slotting in against his shoulder while Combeferre smiled as he brought up a hand to ruffle through Courfeyrac’s hair. Bossuet decided they’re the dumbest people he’s ever met. It’s pretty hard to miss someone’s in love with you if you’re that in sync, but apparently they managed.

“Now we’ll never get them to stop talking. At least it’s obvious Feuilly’s been integrated!” Bossuet looked to where Feuilly was completely absorbed in Jehan’s reading, while Bahorel couldn’t quite hide cir lovestruck expression.

Joly turned to Enjolras, who was leaning his head back against the seat, looking like a painting, his skin highlighted orange by the surrounding lights. “Earlier, you said about a picketing campaign?” he said, and Enjolras pulled his head from the back of the seat, his long hair spilling over his shoulders, and his focus narrowed down onto Joly. They were soon absorbed, and as Bossuet began laughing with Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Grantaire about Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s cats, they occasionally surfaced from their discussion to inject comments.

Nearly two hours later, Bossuet had noticed no time passing, he was three pints in and the discussion had turned into a group discussion, mainly just letting banter flow easily between people. A voice from directly behind Bossuet made him jump and push his chair out, hitting the person behind him in the knees. Joly immediately pulled the person to their feet, asking about injuries, barely pulling in a breath besides. Bossuet put a hand on Joly’s arm and a hand on the newcomer’s arm.

“Joly, breathe.” Joly sucked in a breath, “Hello! I’m Bossuet, he/his.” He directed at the person.

“Eponine, she/hers. No damage past a bruise on my knee, probably.”

Bossuet grinned at her, a spark of recognition lighting in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite place.

“I’m here for Grantaire.” She said, looking into the back corner with her lips, coated in deep purple, curving up at the edges. Grantaire, slightly soporific smiled vacantly and stretched massively, before climbing over Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and over the seat Enjolras had left to let Grantaire get past. He stood, and tipped dangerously to the right before Eponine pushed him back upright. He clapped Joly and Bossuet on the back, announcing;

“You need to come to our meetings more often. Actually, just come to our next _shindig_ ,” he grinned and swayed forwards.

Combeferre, who had invited Eponine to the next ‘get together’ while Grantaire was making his slow way around the table, nodded and took out his phone. Eponine led Grantaire out to calls from the rest of the group of “You don’t come around enough, Eponine!” and “Bye Grantaire!”

Combeferre slid his phone to Bossuet. “Put your number in there, I’ll invite you to our next, uh, _shindig._ ”

Bossuet grinned. “You could just call it a party?”

Courfeyrac, seriously tipsy and trying to be serious, shook his head. “Party is too... Big. We’re not getting smashed or dancing or anything, but get together is so casual. Shindig is the perfect mix of ‘we’re gonna be drinking and it’s a big enough event that you _have to come_ but we’re not... partying.” Courfeyrac finished and downed his drink, and Jehan cheered.

“Here here! We’d be lost without Courfeyrac being the party dictionary for us.” They said, half of their upper body resting on Bahorel’s.

Courfeyrac grinned, before his eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you were the diction- dictionary...?” he asked Combeferre, his eyes wide and puppyish.

Combeferre raised his eyebrows slowly. “Not the _party dictionary_ ,”

Enjolras stared at them in disbelief. He turned to Joly, whispering “They’ve gone insane.”

Joly laughed at Enjolras, obviously picking up on the vibes between the two. “I’m pretty sure they were already there.” He stood, which didn’t really make much of a difference, and announced to the room, “I’m going to follow Grantaire’s lead, and go home.”

Bossuet stared up at Joly, and analyzed the sluggishness of his responses and reaction time. “Good idea. Me , too.”

Bahorel put cir arm around Jehan, who was beginning to fall asleep against cir chest, and pulled them up to standing with cem. “I think we all should.” Ce levelled a glare at Courfeyrac, “especially the ones of us who a) don’t hold our liquor well, and b) are coming to watch their best bud’s boxing match tomorrow.”

Courfeyrac shrunk into Combeferre’s chest.

Bossuet pulled Feuilly to standing with him, and as the group of eight made their way to the door, Enjolras stopped Joly Bossuet and Feuilly.

“Grantaire was right, I would be honoured if you’d turn up to more of our close quarters meetings, just the six, well nine now, of us.”

Bossuet smiled widely, and Joly addressed Enjolras. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Fantastic. I have to go and say goodbye to the pub owner, but I’ll see you next weekend.” Enjolras left, and Joly and Bossuet pulled Feuilly away from Bahorel and Jehan, and said their goodbyes.

Walking back to the Feuilly’s car, Joly fell onto Bossuet, who half carried him the extra ten steps into the car park.

“I can’t decide whether I should be terrified at how well we get on, or delighted at having friends, and being less likely to die horribly, young and lonely.”

Bossuet flicked Joly’s head. “You’re not going to die young and lonely.”

Joly’s eyes widened. “Statistically, we’re the third most likel-“

“That’s bull and you know it, anyway you should be delighted. Les Amis is on the news whenever a big social justice story turns up, but they’re usually referred to as the ‘student group’; unfair because none of them are students any more. They formed the group when they were in university, and that’s what the news focuses on.”

Bossuet leered at Feuilly. “So you obviously talked _a looottt_ with Jehan and Bahorel...”

Feuilly’s neck went red, and he bustled the other two into the car, not replying. Joly collapsed into giggles, sprawling all over Bossuet, who tried to be as soft as possible as Joly started snuffling little snores into his neck.

 

-/-

 

 

 “You’re three hours late.”

“My apartment was on fire?”

“Good excuse, still late.”

“No really, my apartment was on fire.”

Joly turned around to look at Bossuet, whose usual suit and tie was ruffled, his eyes had bags underneath them and his shoulders were unusually slumped.

“Holy shit.”

Bossuet shrugged. “Bound to happen sooner or later. My luck was never really very good-”

Joly raised an eyebrow.

“-and I must have used a lot of it up being friends with you and the rest of les amis.” Bossuet slumped into his desk chair, and put his head into his hands.

Joly walked around to stand behind Bossuet, and put his hands on his shoulders tentatively. When Bossuet didn’t shrug him off, Joly squeezed gently. “How did it happen?”

“The idiot in the room above mine was trying to get his girlfriend back, so he lit candles everywhere. Apparently, he put a couple on his bed posts, then tripped onto his bed. The candles fell onto his bed, and he tried to but it out with the nearest bottle of _stuff_ \- except it turned out to be vodka. He screeched, but I only started panicking when the floorboards above mine turned black.”

Joly snorted. “Your luck is fine, other than you somehow manage to surround yourself with the biggest idiots I’ve ever met. Uh-“ He squeezed Bossuet’s shoulders again, and took a deep breath. “You can stay with me until you get back on your feet.”

Bossuet emerged from his slump, and twisted to better look at Joly. “Really?”

Joly smiled. “I split up with my girlfriend Musichetta about nine months ago, and my apartment is really too big for just me.”

Bossuet smiled in awe up at Joly, who stared back. They stayed like that for a few second, before Joly abruptly came back to himself, coughed, and asked whether “-any of your stuff survived?”

Bossuet jumped. “What?”

“Did any of your stuff survive? Or is it all burnt?”

“Uh, I have a few things, but they all smell of smoke...” His face fell. “I’ll have to go _shopping_.”

Joly snorted, “I’ll go with you.”

“I’m not a very good shopper.

“Neither am I, but that’s all part of the fun, isn’t it?” Joly’s grin widened and Bossuet groaned.

“Okay, but I have to tell Les Amis soon so we can go to someone else’s place instead of mine this weekend, and you know some of them are gonna tag along for the shopping.”

“Make sure Enjolras oversees your insurance settlement.”

“Well, duh.” Bossuet rolled his eyes and grinned, and Joly hit him over the head with a rolled up paper. “Rude.” Bossuet said, making puppy dog eyes at Joly, who just laughed.

“We have to get you up to speed on what’s happened today!” Joly hopped up and went to fetch a case file.

“Hey, Joly.” Bossuet said as he neared the door. Joly halted in the doorway and turned slightly. “Thank you.”

Joly smiled so big it looked like it hurt his face, then winked and left with a small; “my pleasure.”

Bossuet fell back into his seat, a vacant smile on his face. Joly was not only incredibly attractive, but he’d become a great friend in the three months they’d known each other. They worked seamlessly together in the workplace, and Bossuet had no doubt they’d be just as seamless in a domestic setting, no matter how fast his heart beat when he thought about him and Joly in a ‘domestic’ setting.

 

-/-

 

 

“Hey, do you want me to buy you a new coffee machine?”

Joly looked up from his cup of black goop and looked at Bossuet with an eyebrow raised. “You’ve been living here for four months now, you don’t need to buy me anything to earn your keep; you don’t even drink coffee very often.”

“Maybe I want to buy you things? And you’re happier and more awake on the days when you have _good_ coffee. I need to go shopping for a new duvet, anyway.”

Joly grimaced. “This stuff is absolute shit.”

Bossuet side eyed the black sludge. “I think we should burn the old machine.”

Joly nodded, took a sip and tried to stop his face from contorting into a ‘gross’ expression. Bossuet watched his hair flop over his face, and his shoulders hunch up. He was wearing a thin black shirt and pale grey striped sleep trousers, with the shirt tight around his biceps, cutting down to show off his slim waist. It looked soft to the touch, and Bossuet knew his hands would fit into the indent of Joly’s waist perfectly. He looked away.

Joly pulled his gaze away from Bossuet’s thighs wrapped in thin sweatpants.

They sat in comfortable silence, both thinking about the other for a few minutes. Joly laughed to himself, and Bossuet sent him a questioning look.

“When do you think Combeferre and Courfeyrac will fuck?”

“They already have.”

Joly slammed his hands on the table, spilling his coffee everywhere. “ _What?!”_

“Yeah, Courfeyrac told me. Apparently last year, they had sex but neither brought it up so they agreed to just... forget about it?”

Joly sat back slowly, his eyes wide. “They’re both idiots.”

Bossuet snorted. “Well, yeah.” His gaze skirted to Joly’s lips, then away again.

“It’s Combeferre’s birthday soon, do you think-“

“He’s gonna try? I told him he should, but he’s pussyfooting around still.”

“Maybe...”

“We should do something?”

“We should get them both drunk.”

Bossuet laughed, “Because that’ll help so much?”

Joly shook his head, “No, I’ll get Combeferre drunk, because we’re friends now, and I’ll tell him about Courfeyrac and get him to admit his gross squishy feelings, and he then drop him off on their doorstep, get Courfeyrac to sort him out.”

Bossuet looked at him sceptically. “And you think he’s never been drunk around Courfeyrac before?”

“Well of course it has, but I’ll make him promise to say something.”

Bossuet laughed. “Because promises are –“

“-the strongest bond any two people can form.” Joly chorused with him, winking before burying himself in his nasty coffee.

 

Bossuet buys him a new coffee maker. He doesn’t get the duvet.

 

-/-

 

 

“You- You are really great. You know? Not as- as great as Bossuet but you’re good- good to talk to.”

“Well I’ve got Courfeyrac to teach me things.”

“How do you look so sober? I’ve won drinking contests against Gran- Grantaire, and you drank the same amount as me?” Joly’s face scrunched up, then he gasped. “Are you superman?” he whispered.

Combeferre let out a booming laugh, “how can you say that after seeing Enjolras perform to an audience?”

Joly’s eyes widened further. “Enjolras is superman?”

“Definitely superhuman, but I think Feuilly’s superman.”

Joly scrunched up his nose. “Neither of them are men... Superpeople. Why are all our friends heroes?”

Combeferre laughed and patted Joly’s chest, which was at about the same height as his elbow. “We have good taste.”

Joly hummed. “Yeah you and- you and Courfeyrac. Good taste. You’re gonna tell him, right?”

“I keep trying, but I get too nervous and then I just- stop? God, Joly I can’t do it, not tonight.”

Joly let out a groan. “If you don’t do it now you’ll _never do it,_ come on Combeferre!”

Combeferre stared intensely at the ground. “If I work up the nerve by the time I get home, I’ll tell him. But you need to say something to Bossuet, too.”

“Yeah, totally. Bossuet, definitely.”

 

 

 

When Joly got home, two hours later, Bossuet was sitting on the sofa waiting, looking like he’d bitten off most of his nails.

“Joly?! You’re two hours late! I sent you 20 texts, why didn’t you reply?” Bossuet asked, striding over to Joly and taking him by the shoulders, checking him for any damage and likeliness to throw up on Bossuet.

Joly brought his hands up to frame Bossuets face. “I’m fine, and I’m sorry. There was an incident with a shopping trolley, three hedgehogs and Combeferre’s A2 chemistry teacher but we’re fine, I’m. I’m fine.” He grinned up at Bossuet, who was still looking worried. Joly brought his face up to Bossuet and kissed him gently on the lips. “I’m fine, Bossuet. I just need to sleep.” He smiled brightly at the dumbstruck Bossuet, before walking and tripping over nothing a few times towards his room.

Bossuet brought a hand absently to his mouth, his heart aching and beating double speed.

 

 

 

 

“Bossuet?”

Joly poked his head into the kitchen, seeing Bossuet sitting there with his hands wrapped around a mug of tea. Joly’s hair dripped into his eyes. He shivered.

“Bossuet?”

Bossuet turned around. “Joly.”

“Are you okay?”

“Is your head okay?”

“Mostly okay, I’ve drunk more than I did last night with you and Grantaire.”

Bossuet nodded. “Remember much?” He took a sip of tea.

Joly made a noise in his throat. “I’m sorry if- I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward,” Bossuet swung around in his chair to face Joly, as Joly’s voice steadily increased in volume, speed and pitch, “and I didn’t invite you to stay with me so I could coerce you into sleeping with me I’m- It only came later than that I mean I always thought you were attractive but I was never going to act on it while we-“

“Joly.”

“...’re still colleagues...”

Bossuet stood, and walked over to Joly. “Would you like to try in a relationship with me?”

Joly grinned, so wide it looked like it hurt. “I would like that very much.”

Bossuet grinned in response, and took Joly’s face between his hands. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please, plea- please do.”

Bossuet smiled and spent a few seconds just looking into Joly’s eyes, but Joly cut him off, leaning up to smash their mouths together, pressing his weight into Bossuet’s front and deepening the kiss. Bossuet nearly fell forwards, and instead picked Joly up and set him on the kitchen counter, pulling his leg around Bossuet’s hip and pulling him in tighter. Joly’s hands grasped at Bossuet’s neck, shoulders, arms as he pushed himself up against Bossuet, trying to get him as close as possible. Eventually, Bossuet broke away from Joly, and both continued to stare at the other’s red-bitten lips, hickey covered neck and flushed cheeks. Bossuet, breathing deeply, pressed a closed mouth kiss onto Joly’s mouth, who whined and tried to press up into it, get more from him.

“Work. We have work.”

“We can call in sick I just- please, Bossuet.” Joly threaded his hands behind Bossuet’s head and pressed them together again, melting against the front of his body as Bossuet let his lips part, and fed Joly his tongue.

“Joly, come on. Tonight, we have all the time in the world.”

Joly let his head fall against Bossuet’s collarbone. “Why did I choose a Sunday to go out drinking?”

Bossuet smoothed a hand up his back. “Why, indeed.”

 

 

It turns out he doesn't need the new duvet.

 

-/-

 

 

Two weeks later, after having some of the best sex _of his life_ , Bossuet walked into his office with Joly 30 minutes late, and still flushed. An assistant to Fantine Fauchelevent was  waiting for them, with a report.

“It’s an update on the 0579 case.”

Joly paled.

“There’s been a new murder.”

“Number 3.”

The girl nodded. “Victim’s name was Sara Argonar.”

Bossuet’s knees gave out, and he let himself fall into the nearest chair.

“She was my neighbour.”

Joly put his hand on Bossuet’s shoulder, and his grip tightened to the point of being painful, if it wasn’t for Bossuet only being able to ground himself by the pain shooting down his arm..

“I was right.”

Joly let his head fall, so his forehead was touching the crown of Bossuet’s where he was sitting. “We need to get that interview with Francis, and you need to remember who else was in that meeting.”

Bossuet’s eyebrows pushed together. “Why would they target me and Sara? We were only there for five minutes. And who’s number one? If I’m number two? I know no one left before me and Sara.”

Joly stared at him. “You don’t remember what they were discussing? Last time you wrote-“ he dug through the massive file marked 0579 on his desk, and started reading aloud “’-a gathering of a group of people who were mostly joking, well I think they were joking, about organised crime rings- in Manchester. I was about to leave the city, and I was freaking out about housing problems in London, but there were 25- maybe 30 people there? Francis guffawed at something and this one guy who introduced himself as The- Thena-something shot him down.’” He paused. “What were they joking about?”

“I don’t remember, all I remember thinking was I didn’t want to be involved with them, because they looked really sketchy. I don’t know why they’d target me or Sara, we were only there for ten minutes or less and it was _years_ ago.”

Joly put his head on Bossuet’s shoulder, and the assistant starting texting.

“What’s your name?”

“Azelma. I’m telling Ms. Fauchelevent about this. She’ll be here in a second.”

“We’re totally getting drunk with Grantaire tonight.”

Bossuet kissed Joly’s cheek. “You have the best ideas.”

 

 

 

 

Hours later, after informing DI Fauchelevent about the new information in the case, and their suspicion that Bossuet would be next, then being placated because “all the murders were at least three months apart, so we have time to think of a plan of action, and for you to recall any extra information that might be useful to us.” (Joly was extremely happy afterwards, because he admired Fantine Fauchelevent with the fire of a thousand burning suns, and after she left with a compliment about their service, he blushed for about half an hour.

{“Bossuet- she got here from being forced into _sex work_ to survive, and each year she donates a significant portion of her earnings to charities to help sex workers get out of their tricky situations, _Bossuet, she’s amazing!_ ”

“I know, Joly, you and Combeferre have both raved about her brilliance at least three times at me.”

“Enjolras, too.” “Enjolras will admire any police officer that opposes the blatant systematic oppression that the police force is built on.”

“...Good point. But still, _Fantine Fauchelevent complimented me!”}_ )  They were in the Musain with Grantaire and Eponine.

“Your name is not as bad as mine!”

“Bossuet, the only reason I like my name is because I can make it into a pun-“

“Yeah, but I think we can all agree that Joly’s name suits him best.”

“You’re just saying that because you can shag him now.”

“Shut up R, let the man make his point.”

“ _Thank you_ , Eponine. Well, Joly’s name is one letter away from ‘joy’ and we all know he’s the happiest member of Les Amis,”

Joly’s grin widened, and he took one of the shots on the table and slammed it back, while Grantaire groaned.

“You two and your sappiness is disgusting.” Eponine snickered.

“Excuse me, I wasn’t done. His name is also one letter away from ‘jolly’, which is the most perfect descriptor I can think of.”

Joly gazed adoringly at Bossuet through the haze of alcohol that had been pressing on his senses, and Grantaire snorted loudly.

“That’s a good nickname, I’m gonna use that.”

Joly scrunched his nose at R. “What, Jolly?”

“Nah,” Grantaire lifted his chin in a bad imitation of Bossuet, and pitched his voice lower. “ _Jollllllllllyyyy.”_ He drawled.

“That was a terrible imitation of me.”

“Anyway, Bossuet’s name is the most difficult.”

“What?” Bossuet asked in surprise, “why?”

Joly started laughing, as if sharing a joke with himself. “You- when you first applied to our department we had to file three separate insurance claims bec- because- you have- three- three- thr-“ he collapsed on the table, surrounded by his own laughter, with Eponine, Grantaire and Bossuet all laughing along, none of them understanding the joke but completely entranced in the atmosphere Joly created.

Joly took a deep break, composed himself and pointed at Bossuet, composed into a killer poker face. “You have three names.”

He collapsed onto the table again and Bossuet laughed in realisation. “Yeah, it’s awful for all of my employers, in fact, on the first day of university some guy missed class, and I felt bad for him because you know- first day. So I answered his name for him, then the lecturer got to my name and was like,” he made his voice deeper, “’are you two people’ so I was like, ‘no’, then he was like ‘well which are you, Marius or Bossuet?’ and I went on a nice long explanation of how many names I’ve gained legally, so he let me get away with it. I never did find out whether Marius appreciated it.”

Joly was staring at him.

“What?”

“You are way too nice.”

Bossuet grinned. “Thanks.”

“Well at least your name doesn’t get you an instant bad reputation.” Eponine said, holding her glass up to them. “To shitty names!”

They all clinked glasses, drained their drinks and agreed that going home was probably a good idea.

I’m thinking of getting my name changed, you wouldn’t believe the amount of people who won’t hire a Thenardier! –“

“ _Thenardier?”_ Bossuet stopped and threw his arm out to stop Eponine. “Did you say _Thenardier?”_

“...Yes?”                                                                                                                                                                                                   

“Holy _shit,_ Joly I remember why those guys are familiar.”

“What?”

Bossuet waved his hands a serious expression on his face, with Grantaire, Eponine and Joly standing around with various expressions of confusion on their faces.

“Case 0579.” Bossuet said, his face paling as he spoke.

“ _Holy shit, really?”_ Joly grabbed Bossuet’s arm. “ _Please tell me you weren’t involved.”_

“I wasn’t I- I wasn’t. No- wait, shit.” He paused, obviously thinking hard. “It was me and Sara, we went to a... thing. They’d sent invitations based on past criminal conduct, and I grew up having to steal and lie to stay alive.”

Joly’s hand tightened on Bossuet’s arm, and Grantaire and Eponine, catching on, were listening with intensity.

“I did a lot of bad shit back then, and didn’t get convicted for a lot of it. I think they thought- they thought I was on the police force to subvert it, Joly- Joly I-“

Bossuet leaned forwards, his hands gripping Joly’s arms, too.

 “Their name; two of them were Thenardiers. They were organising an underground drugs cartel, and wanted people who’d done bad shit in the past to get involved for a massive profit but I don’t, I don’t know whether they killed them because they left, or because they knew too much, or because they’re shutting it down.” he pulled his gaze from the floor to Joly’s face, putting nearly his whole weight onto the other man, nearly 6 inches shorter than him. “I only know the names, but I doubt Sara knew more than me. I know she didn’t go to any more meetings than I did, and she probably wouldn’t have remembered their names either. But it’s me. I’m next, they’re gonna kill me next, definitely.”

Joly paled, and Eponine, unbeknownst to both of them, too absorbed in each other, went to call Gavroche. Grantaire leaned forwards to take some of Bossuet’s weight off of Joly. They both breathed deeply, hands gripping each other. Joly huffed.

“Well I’m glad you waited five minutes until we were out of the pub to have that epiphany.”

Bossuet, his face still pale, began to choke on his laughs. Grantaire, standing to the side, stared incredulously at them both.

“You just realised he’s gonna be killed next, and you’re laughing?”

“Grantaire- Grantaire my sweet bakewell tart.” Joly choked out. Grantaire raised his eyebrow. “We have _so much_ to go on now, you have no idea. And Bossuet can be protected by the police force, because we _know_ he’s next. He’s safer now than he was when we didn’t know.”

Grantaire looked mollified. “I’m not your bakewell tart.”

Joly frowned.

“Bossuet is.”

Bossuet, still with his head buried in Joly’s shoulder, his own shoulders shaking with laughter, nodded into Joly’s neck.

“But I’d settle for being your jelly _baby_ ,” Grantaire grinned. Joly raised his eyebrow, the effect cheapened slightly by his grin, and Bossuet groaned.

Eponine hung up her phone. “I’m number one.”

Joly dropped his bag.

“I’m their daughter. Thenardier; bad reputation. I can tell you pretty much all you need to know, and what you don’t get from me you can ask my little brother, Gavroche.”

“Wait, wait no why are you number one?”

Eponine grinned. “I left home just before the attacks started. They know they won’t find me easily so I’m last in line. I know where they’re based though; my father is predictable.”

Joly dug through his pockets. “Wait wait, tell DI Fauchelevent this.”

They called Fantine and filled her in on everything that had been uncovered so far, while Fantine recorded the conversation.

“The names are Babet, Gueulemer, Montparnasse, Claquesous, and Madame and Monsieur Thenardier. You won’t find Claquesous, I think he’s dead, but he’s never been seen, not even Babet could identify his body. Montparnasse will talk for an early release and money, you won’t get anything out of Babet, and Gueulemer is more like a brick wall than a sentient human being.”

Through the line, Fantine talked at her, and they organised a time to meet and do an interview in person. Joly leaned against Bossuet.

“We only figured this out because you nearly got targeted, and Eponine wants to send her father to jail.”

“But we figured it out.”

“Way too many people died.”

Bossuet pulled Joly round to face him, and enveloped him in a hug.

“We’re okay. Les Amis will be at ours on Friday, and we can tell them about your impending death.”

“You two are insane.”

Bossuet and Joly grinned at Grantaire.

“Duh. We wouldn’t have got so far in this job if we weren’t.”

Eponine hung up the phone and handed it back to Joly with a glint in her eye. “I probably shouldn’t have done that in the street. Claquesous is a very connected guy for someone without a face.”

 

-/-

 

Friday, after Eponine’s interview with DI Fauchelevent, Les Amis, Eponine, Gavroche and DI Fauchelevent’s assistant, Azelma gathered at Bossuet and Joly’s house. After being told that Bossuet and Eponine were likely (more so now that Eponine had given a confession) to be killed, with Azelma (who turned out to be a long lost sister to Eponine; after a punch in the face, they reunited amicably, with Eponine’s eye turning a nasty shade of purple.) and Gavroche as possible extra deaths, due to their relation, but it was ‘pretty likely that dad doesn’t recognise either of them, they ran away when Azelma was 10, Gavroche was 8. Tried to take me with them but I was too old to go unnoticed. We promised to stay in touch, but I couldn’t without jeopardising their safety, hence,” (she gestured to her eye.)

Bahorel had pulled Bossuet into cir arms as soon as Joly had announced the possibility of his death, and cir arms kept tightening. Bossuet’s face was turning a bit purple.

“Bahorel, can I have my boyfriend back?” Joly asked, holding his hand out for Bossuet to pull himself up on, and Bahorel reluctantly loosened cir arms, planting a wet kiss on Bossuet’s cheek as he stood, and headed into the kitchen with Joly. A cry of “I’ll protect you from the nasty people, my brave, bald prince!” from Bahorel followed them. Joly laughed, and pulled Bossuet down into a kiss.

“Not in front of the food!”

Joly detached himself from Bossuet and turned. “Courfeyrac! Always nice to have you raid our fridge.”

Courfeyrac grinned and pulled a jar of olives out of the fridge. “Which one of you eats _olives?_ You _heathen._ ”

“Neither of us, we save them for Jehan.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “They like _olives?_ Gross.”

Joly grinned, and moved forward to get himself a drink.

“By the way, when did _that_ happen?”

Bossuet turned. “What?”

Courfeyrac pointed at Bossuet’s hand on Joly’s lower back.

Bossuet thought for a few seconds. “Uhm. Remember that day I showed up for drinks wearing my spare, bright pink shirt?”

Joly blushed bright red.

Courfeyrac nodded. “Fuchsia.”

“Well, two days before that.”

“The day before we got drunk? The day Combeferre came home drunk?”

“I did what?” Combeferre asked, walking into the kitchen holding three beer cans and six Doritos wrappers. Courfeyrac raised his eyebrow at his collection of stuff, and he blushed. “I didn’t eat all these!”

Courfeyrac grinned. “’Course you didn’t; two of those Doritos packets are mine.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Joly and I got drunk. For such a small guy he can _really_ put it away.”

Joly grinned, and winked at Bossuet. “And I went through with my promise...”

Combeferre blanched. “You want me to...”

Joly nodded.

“Right now?”

Joly smirked. “Follow my lead.”

He stood on his tiptoes and pressed his lips against Bossuet’s, angling his whole body into the kiss, enveloping Bossuet in his arms.

Combeferre stared, before taking a deep breath, and fixing his determined gaze on Courfeyrac, who went pale and took a step back, nearly into the fridge.

Combeferre rested his palms, one against Courfeyrac’s shoulder, and one against his jaw line, with the tips of his fingers threading slightly into Courfeyrac’s hair. He was blushing, so much so that the red flush was noticeable on his dark skin.

“Tell me now if you want me to stop.”

Courfeyrac said nothing, just stared, wide eyed at Combeferre, an expression of barely contained hope in his eyes. His hand was gripping a jar of olives, and the other was holding the side of the fridge.

Combeferre leaned down to press his lips against Courfeyrac’s, with his aim slightly off, so he ended up pulling Courfeyrac’s bottom lip into his mouth. Courfeyrac whimpered.

Joly gently removed the jar of olives from his slack hand, and both Courfeyrac’s hands immediately latched onto Combeferre’s waist, and he pushed up onto his tiptoes to press closer to Combeferre’s touch.

Joly and Bossuet stood to the side, watching them kiss.

“This is the most intense make out session I’ve ever seen.”

“Our first was pretty great?”

“It really was.”

“...I probably shouldn’t be finding our friends this hot, though.”

Joly snorted.

Combeferre’s hand slid past Courfeyrac’s ass to hitch one of his thighs onto Combeferre’s hip.

The fridge beeped.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre jumped, and broke apart.

“Wow.”

Combeferre licked his lips.

Courfeyrac whimpered again.

“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.” From the doorway, Enjolras pointed an accusing finger at Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “You two are _not allowed_ to angst over this, go and talk about your _feelings_ , right now.”

Combeferre took a shaky breath in, and looked at Courfeyrac.

“Okay.” Courfeyrac led Combeferre into Joly and Bossuet’s bedroom.

“ _That wasn’t a code for ‘just make out some more,’ damnit, talk to each other!”_ Enjolras yelled after them.

Bossuet nudged Joly. “Damn.”

“I know right.”

Enjolras turned to glare at them. “It was about damn time, which one of you made that happen?”

Joly raised a hand. “Bossuet helped. He got Courfeyrac drunk, too.”

Enjolras stared in confusion for a second, before shaking his head and reaching out to shake Joly’s hand. “I knew you were a good idea; I’ve been trying to get that to happen for five years now.”

Joly grinned. “They’re very welcome, but I’m pretty sure they paid us back with the free show.”

Bossuet huffed a laugh, and closed the fridge.

An hour later, Combeferre and Courfeyrac emerged, both with kiss bitten lips, various hickeys, and holding hands. Joly and Bossuet high fived each other and Enjolras, and Grantaire handed Eponine a fiver. Combeferre turned a judgmental eyebrow on Enjolras.

“Don’t judge us so much, I’ve seen you and Grantaire arguing and cuddling on the sofa.”

Enjolras and Grantaire’s ears simultaneously turned red.

“Yeah, but you all know we’re queerplatonic.”

Bahorel made a ‘what?’ expression, and handed Feuilly a tenner.

Grantaire’s neck turned red, too. Enjolras grinned.

-/-

 

“Tuesday is the day they’ve scheduled to ransack the Thenardier’s hideout.”

“Tomorrow?”

“It was the closest notice we could get.”

“So we just hope nothing happens in the meantime?”

 

-/-

 

Bossuet startled out of sleep.

“Joly?”

Except the noise had come from the window’s direction. Joly wasn’t meant to be home until 4am; he’d had a last minute planning meeting with DI Fauchelevent, and a man called Javert who would be leading the search the next day.

It was 3.30am.

“Joly is that you?”

Bossuet got up, and walked into the living room. It’d been hard enough to fall asleep without Joly there the first time; he doubted he’d get to sleep again without Joly snuffling quietly and burrowing into his warmth.

The apartment was silent. Bossuet sat on the sofa, grabbing his book to pass the time. He sighed. He’d become so accustomed to Joly that he couldn’t even sleep without worrying about whether Joly was going to make it home okay. Outside, something crashed. A breeze hit the back of Bossuet’s head.

Something clicked. Someone behind him swore.

It wasn’t Joly.

Joly was walking up the stairs.

The person threw their gun to the floor, and pulled out a knife. Bossuet stood and walked backwards, keeping the person in his line of sight at all times, towards the phone. The person, their face covered, dressed all in black, flipped their knife between their fingers and strode towards Bossuet. Bossuet, unarmed and realising this person was going to kill _him_ and carve a number 2 on his stomach, panicked. His breathing quickened, and he assessed everything in the room for a possible weapon; the gun was a dud, which meant he wouldn’t fit the MOA profile; the phone, now in his hand, needed to be used to call the police; there was a lamp, but that’s not much use against a knife. The person unexpectedly jumped the last foot, and Bossuet reacted on instinct, jamming his forearm underneath the forearm of the hand holding the knife, angling the knife up and away from him, accidentally slashing it against his own hand, and trying to bring up his knee to hit the person in the stomach, but they twisted with the movement of his block, and grabbed Bossuet by the throat, twisting his whole body round with them until he overbalanced and landed on his back on the floor, all his breath coming out of his lungs.

Joly unlocked the door, and walked though in full police uniform.

Bossuet struggled to draw breath.

The person held the knife at Bossuet’s common carotid, and knelt on his chest, pinning his hands and out of the way of his legs.

Bossuet arched his neck away from the knife. The person pressed down slightly.

The person sliced through the top layer of skin.

A drop of blood gathered at his neck.

The person grinned.

Joly tazed them.

They fell off Bossuet’s chest, slicing through slightly more skin, and he rolled over, choking in air and gagging, clasping his hand to the cut, while Joly restrained the person.

Cuffed to a chair, with an on-duty officer on the way, the person slowly came back to consciousness.

“Can you breathe?”

The person gave Joly a look. Bossuet raised his eyebrows.

Joly shrugged. “Sometimes being tasered means the victim’s breathing is impaired afterwards. It was a valid question.”

“You’re not even gonna ask who I am?”

Joly shrugged. Bossuet’s breathing was still louder than normal, and he was holding his head delicately.

“What’s your name?”

“Babet.”

Joly narrowed his eyes. “So the Thenardiers sent you.”

“They have nothing to lose.”

“And you’re confessing?”

“I’m only here because they threatened to frame me for a bunch of nasty shit they did. Being blackmailed into attempted murder gives a lot shorter sentence than _anything_ else they’ve done.”

“You might want to wait for your lawyer.”

Babet nodded, and narrowed his eyes at Bossuet. “You might want to get the fuck out of town for a few days. They’re gonna know I fucked this up, and someone else will be sent. I’m gonna tell you now; they’re down to their last few people, that’s why they sent me rather than hire someone. They’ve been fucking up big time, but if they send Gueulemer, you won’t get out of it alive.”

Bossuet didn’t move. The doorbell rang.

Babet was taken away with no protests.

They did a quick sweep for bugs, and finding none, stood close together in the bathroom.

Joly put the tips of his fingers over Bossuet’s throat. “They’re down to just them. They’ll be gone by tomorrow, you’ll be fine.”

“What if Babet was lying?”

Joly handed Bossuet Babet’s gun. “This gun was jammed by a person who knows their way around one. Either Babet didn’t want to kill you, or those are some mean as fuck employers, who’d send one of their own to prison with the possibility of being killed to do what? To give the impression that there aren’t many of them left? Why would they want that reputation?”

“So they can disappear? Maybe their plan didn’t work out so they want to get back into the woodwork again.”

“Tomorrow we’ll find out. Eponine will identify them. Bossuet, you’ll be fine.”

Bossuet pressed his cheek to Joly’s hair. “I hope so.”

 

-/-

 

 

Neither were allowed on the raid, because of personal involvement in the case. After a suspense filled morning where both drank too much coffee and got impatient watching TV, the phone rang. Joly picked it up and Bossuet nearly chewed off his nails while Joly spoke to Javert, then DI Fauchelevent.

He hung up the phone, then took Bossuet’s hand. “They’re all there but Claquesous, but a body was found and they think it’s him. Eponine identified them all; You’re gonna be okay.”

Bossuet’s face split into a massive grin, and he laughed, then hugged Joly as close to his body as he could.

Slightly muffled by Bossuet’s shoulder, Joly continued, “We’ll be needed in court to testify and tell our stories, but it’s over. We’re done.”

“Thank you so much Joly, you have literally saved my life.”

“Bossuet.” Joly pulled himself away from Bossuet, out his hands on his shoulders and fixed him with an intense look. “Bossuet. I love you.”

Bossuet pulled in a stuttering breath, his face stretching into an exhilarated lopsided smile. “I love you, too.”

Joly grinned back, and pressed their smiling mouths together. Bossuet, unable to school his expression, pressed kisses along Joly’s cheek to his jaw line, while Joly threaded his hands behind Bossuet’s head to draw him back to Joly’s lips, pressing gently, chastely for a while, just breathing each other in.

Joly slid his hand over Bossuet’s back, gently pulling him down onto the sofa so Bossuet was over Joly, folded up to fit on the tiny sofa. Joly’s legs, nearly short enough to fit, twisted, and slotted on either side of Bossuet’s torso. Bossuet leaned down to kiss him gently, again, and Joly hooked his ankles together behind Bossuet's back, pulling him down, more securely on top of Joly. Holding Bossuet as close as he could, Joly slowly deepened the kiss, sighing and melting into the sofa as Bossuet rocked forwards, sliding to arrange his weight more comfortably over Joly’s, the hand not supporting him slipping underneath Joly’s lower back to get him to arch up more into Bossuet’s body. Joly’s arms tightened as Bossuet pulled his hips upward, and his legs tightened around Bossuet’s body, slipping, his spine shuddering and his entire body reacting to tiny movements of Bossuet’s mouth on his own. The arm Bossuet had around his hips pulled him in tighter, starting a tiny rolling rhythm in time with Joly’s tiny noises on his outward breaths. Bossuet kept it going, Joly’s tiny noises increasing in frequency and volume, until, in time with their rhythm, Bossuet pushed down, sliding forwards and bringing Joly’s hips in the same movement as him, and Joly broke the kiss to throw his head back, another tiny groan slipping from his throat, his body rippling against Bossuet’s as the sudden stimulation spiked through his body. Bossuet pressed kisses to his throat as Joly pulled harder with his legs, his arms, his hips to get Bossuet to start moving harder again, but Bossuet maintained the slow, teasing rolls, gently pulling Joly’s hips into the same movement. His hand wrapped around Joly’s hip, controlling and steady. Joly’s mewls continued increasing, until he broke away to whisper,

“Please, Bossuet,”

To which Bossuet replied,

“Joly, I love you.”

Joly’s head fell back against the arm of the sofa again, and Bossuet latched on, sucking a bruising, biting, firey kiss onto his neck, and Joly let out a louder, wordless plea, his legs clinging desperately to Bossuet’s sides, his hands pulling, _pulling_ at Bossuet’s head to increase the sensation on his neck, so Bossuet pushed down with his hips again, pulling Joly into his body, into the position he liked, needed.

“Please,” Joly whispered again, and Bossuet pushed himself back, pulled Joly with him until Joly was positioned on his lap, and he let Joly bounce, riding his lap, his thigh, anything he could position his clumsy thrusts against, as he recaptured Joly’s mouth in another searing kiss.

“Joly,” Bossuet sighed, and Joly pushed his forehead against Bossuet’s, the sweat on their foreheads mingling.

“Joly, I need to fuck you.”

Joly shuddered, starting at his neck and moving down his entire body, and nodded, whispering “I love you,” as Bossuet picked him up, pulled his legs round his waist, and carried him to the bedroom.

 

-/-

 

 

“Which gift says ‘thank god you two finally fucked’ best?”

“I personally like the scarf patterned with tiny dicks.”

“Enjolras, you know Courfeyrac would wear that unironically.”

Enjolras frowned at the scarf. “Fuck. Maybe we should go for the ‘my sexual orientation is puns’ t-shirt.”

“Courfeyrac would wear that unironically, too.”

Enjolras laughed. “It would give Combeferre a chance to show off his pun game though.”

Bossuet picked up a ‘dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians’ t-shirt, and considered getting it for Eponine. He was sure her girlfriend Cosette would appreciate it.

“Did your insurance money finally come through?”

“Finally; apparently ‘dangerous use of candles’ is something difficult to class for damage repair. They ended up paying me just enough for me to pay back the rent I’ve been sponging off Joly for the past few months.”

“You haven’t been sponging off Joly; Joly loves having you around!”

“Only because he’s the human embodiment of joy, and it’s easier for me to tell him whether his symptoms are real and as bad as he thinks they are.”

“Your home life sounds delightful.”

“We have a lot more fun than we tell you about... Unless you’d like for me to tell you about us?” Bossuet batted his eyelashes at Enjolras, who shot him an exasperated look.

“And I could tell you everything Grnataire and I argue about.”

“Ahh... Touche...”

Enjolras snorted, and went back to browsing through the shelves of the shop.

“Maybe we should just get them some flowers... with a card.”

“That says ‘congrats, you two finally fucked?’”

“It could work!”

“I want to get Joly some flowers, too.”

“Sweet. Gross. Would Grantaire appreciate flowers?”

“Only if you posed with them.”

Enjolras hit him. They got the scarf, the t-shirt and the flowers, and for Combeferre, a pair of socks with Simpsons characters on them, and a periodic table mug. Bossuet dubbed them ‘the absolute best friends anyone could ever have,’ then dropped Courfeyrac’s flowers in a puddle.

They decided Courfeyrac didn’t need the flowers.

 

 

 

 

“Joly? I got you something?”

“Yeah?” Joly, holding one sock, hopped into the living room.

“Well... Flowers?”

Joly’s eyes widened, and he took a couple hops backwards. “Are those chrysanthemums?”

“Uhhh..”

“I’m allergic to chrysanthemums.” Joly hopped back a few steps more, and Bossuet looked like he wanted to bash his head into a table.

“Okay. I’ll be right back!”

 

 

 

 

“Sorry it took so logn to get to the door, I was a little...” Combeferre smoothed his hand through his rumpled hair and pulled the hem of his jumper down to cover his belly. “Busy.”

Bossuet heard Courfeyrac’s laughter from inside the house, as he came to the door while pulling his shirt on. Combeferre grinned adoringly down at him.

“I was going to give you these,” he held out the flowers, “but I’m sure Feuilly would appreciate them if you’re too _busy_ to take care of them.”

Courfeyrac grinned and snatched the flowers out of Bossuet’s hand, with the hastily made card shoved inside reading ‘congrats on the sex!’

“They’d be apt for Feuilly, Jehan and Bahorel, too.” Combeferre remarked dryly.

“They worked everything out?”

Combeferre smirked. “Well I walked in on Jehan fully dressed with Feuilly and Bahorel naked on the bed, so I’ll leave the rest up to you.”

“Those kinky shits!” Courefeyrac exclaimed, his mouth slightly open. “Why didn’t you tell me? Maybe we should-“

“Please, I’m still here.”

“Sorry Bossuet, thanks for the flowers. And for the dick scarf, I love it.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “How did you know I like The Simpsons?”

“Are you serious? You have literally ever season by your TV.”

“Only up to 16; the rest haven’t been released yet.”

“I rest my case. And I’ll let you get back to your canoodling; I have a date with Joly.” Bossuet turned to leave, followed by a ‘Thank you!’ from Courfeyrac, and when he looked back at the open door from seven paces away, he saw Combeferre holding Courfeyrac up against it, joined at the lips, with Courfeyrac’s hands under Combeferre’s jumper.

“Get a room!”

He could see Combeferre’s blush from ten meters away.

 

 

 

 

“Okay, let’s try that again.”

Joly, fully socked and sitting on the sofa, looked up questioningly at Bossuet.

“Can I make you dinner?”

Joly grinned. “I would love that. You know it’s surprising, that of all the flowers in the world, you picked the one type that I’m allergic to.”

Bossuet laughed. “Natural talent.”

 

 

 

 

 

A week later, a fruit basket appeared on Feuilly’s porch, with a card reading ‘we hear you’ve been having kinkier sex than us, well done!’

Bahorel appreciated it.

**Author's Note:**

> i did 0 research for this fic. and they probably did actual work at some point. probably. 
> 
> sorry abt the intense character studies and probably nonsensical plotlines
> 
> pls inform me if i've made spelling mistakes/pronoun mistakes/if u wanna see this from any other character's perspective lmao


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